


SEPARATE LIVES

by JJ1564



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Gen, Mark of Cain, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-13
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-19 06:21:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1459147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/pseuds/JJ1564
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative ending to S9.14 'Captives', inspired by the Bi-Bro Challenge on spn_bunker, giving both Dean and Sam's perspectives. This is not a happy fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SEPARATE LIVES

**Dean**

Dean watched Mrs Tran leave with Kevin’s ghost. Our lives are so weird, he mused as he turned to talk to Sam; but his brother had already gone. Dean heard the slam of the bedroom door and flinched like it was a slap in the face. He felt sure Kevin’s little lecture would have made Sam open up and was ridiculously disappointed that it hadn't. Sam used to want to talk, all the time. ‘Dean, we need to talk.’ ‘We have to talk about this.’ ‘You can’t keep this bottled up.’ ‘Talk to me, man.’

Dean used to get angry with Sam, he didn't always want to spill his fucking guts, and it used to take a lot of nagging before he would open up. He had never imagined missing the nagging, missing talking to his brother, missing being able to share his burdens. Stop being such a girl, Winchester, he mumbled to himself as he paused outside Sam’s firmly shut door. He wanted to bang on the door, scream at his brother, shout and punch and kick; anything to get more of a reaction than the polite disinterest Sam seemed to have mastered lately. Sam hadn't even been concerned about Dean’s stunningly stupid move in taking the Mark of Cain. He’d just accepted it and never even asked Dean about it.

Once inside his own room, he changed into the black sweatpants and t-shirt he wore to sleep in, not that he ever did much sleeping. He lay down and picked up his headphones, hoping to drown out the voices in his head with Led Zeppelin IV turned as loud as possible. He managed to still his thoughts as he hummed along to ‘Black Dog’ but by the time ‘Rock and Roll’ started he was already hearing that voice.

‘Your brother doesn't love you, not like you love him. He wouldn't have saved you, he told you so himself. He would let you die. When you were in Purgatory for a whole year he didn’t lift a finger to find you. He doesn’t need you. He doesn't care about you, about the load you carry. He doesn’t understand you. You saved him because that’s what you do, what you’ve done since you were 4 years old and your momma was burning on the ceiling and Sammy was shoved in your arms. Saving Sam, saving people, it’s not your job, it’s who you are. That smug dick of an angel Zachariah was right about that. It’s your life and you’re miserable without it. Hell, you’re miserable anyhow, but at least you get a kick outta killing things don’t you?’

Dean sat up and rubbed his face. ‘Shut up shut up shut up.’ He murmured, reaching for the whiskey bottle from his bedside table and swigging straight from the bottle. He pulled off the head phones; even Led Zep at max volume wasn't helping tonight. And these days he couldn’t bear to listen to ‘Stairway To Heaven’ as he knew he was headed the other way once more. He paced the room, bottle in hand. Since hell he had often had a voice inside his head, telling him how bad he was, how weak he was, how screwed in the head he was. He had smothered the voice with booze and bravado for years, but since he had been dumb enough to take the Mark of Cain, the voice had gotten louder and more insistent.

‘I only kill evil things. To save people. I’m not a mindless killer.’ Dean said to the empty room.

‘Tell yourself that Dean-o. But you know that you were better off in hell, better off in purgatory. At least there you could cut and slice and kill and be yourself. Because what you are Dean is a feral animal, driven by the desire to slice and draw blood. You need it, the feeling of your blade cutting through flesh, the warmth of blood on your skin, the smell of it. You need Sam to keep you human. Without him nothing would stop you being the mindless killer you really are. And he doesn’t even acknowledge you as his brother anymore. He hates you.’

‘Stop it!’ Dean yelled and punched the wall. His hand throbbed and he froze, hoping that Sam hadn’t heard him. ‘Sammy’s just angry, he doesn’t hate me. God, I’m going fucking nuts.’ He waited for a moment, frozen, in case Sam had heard but nothing happened and he was thankful that the bunker walls were thick. He felt sick inside, because since the Mark, he had felt so angry, a murderous rage, and he knew had taken far too much pleasure in killing those werewolves in Wisconsin. He had been pretty close to ending Garth too. What the hell was wrong with him?

Dean walked back to his bed and pulled his sweatpants down to his knees, then sat on the edge of the bed. He drew out his Bowie knife from under his pillow and looked at it for a moment. His inner thighs were already covered in fresh scars and he took a deep breath before he sliced his skin open, watching as the blood ran down his leg, catching it with his fingers, inhaling the coppery smell, relaxing for the first time in days. He groaned as he sliced again, not deep enough to need stitches but enough to bleed out. He lay back on the bed and looked at his bloodied hands. Better his blood than someone else’s, he figured. He was feeling sleepy now, the combination of the whiskey and the cutting soothing him.

Dean jumped upright with a start when there was a knock at the door. ‘Dean? You decent?’ Sam called out. ‘Cas is here. He’s got news.’

‘Fuck! Hold up Sammy!’ Dean didn’t have time to bandage his legs but yanked up his sweatpants and wiped his hands on them. He sprayed deodorant to mask the smell of blood and shoved his knife back under the pillow just as Sam walked in. Sam took in his flushed face, his guilty expression and the deodorant smell and jumped to the obvious conclusion.

‘You and your right hand been having a party?’ He smirked.

‘Fuck off.’ Dean grumbled.

‘You so need to get laid, dude.’ Sam chuckled and for a moment Sam dropped his mask of indifference.

‘I guess you know me too well, Sammy.’ Dean lied, keeping his voice casual although he felt like his heart was breaking. His little brother didn’t know him at all.

**Sam**

Sam watched Kevin and Mrs Tran go. Kevin was right, he had to fix this. He made his way to his room and shut the door, his only thought being to carry on his research on the Mark of Cain, to try to figure out what it really meant for Dean, and, if it was as bad as Sam thought, how he could help him. He picked up his laptop and scrolled through the information he had downloaded so far. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

‘Why the hell did you do it Dean? Of all the stupid….’ Sam muttered. ‘Haven’t we both given enough, done enough!’ He said more loudly. ‘And now I’m talking to myself. Crap.’

Sam got up and walked through to the kitchen. He hoped he would find Dean there with a bottle in his hand, and was surprised to find it empty. He poured himself a whiskey and went through to the library to dig through some old books. Dean was in big trouble, Sam had to save him. Things had been tense between him and Dean since he had found about Dean using that fucking angel to heal him. The same angel that had killed Kevin, using Sam’s hands to do it.

Sam was still so angry with Dean, and just wanted Dean to realise that he had made a huge mistake. Sam’s life wasn't worth more than anyone else’s; he should have completed the trials. He had been ready to do it, ready to die, ready to save the fucking world yet again. And if he had been successful, Kevin would still be alive and reunited with his mom. He could still see the pain in Mrs Tran’s eyes when she had realised that Kevin was dead. The agony in her voice when she spoke his name. The love in her face when she saw Kevin’s spirit and was reunited with her son. He had killed Kevin and he had to live with that.

And now his big brother had made another huge mistake. Fucking massive. He sighed. Dean had some inbuilt death-wish. No, not even death. He had an inbuilt suffering-wish, like he deserved all the crap life had thrown at him. It had always been there, and since hell it had been worse. Even when Dean had been with Lisa, he had spent much of his time worrying about Sam and trying to find ways to save him from hell. Dean had never had normal or good or peace. Sam had experienced it twice and he wanted it again, someday. He had known it at Stanford with Jessica and again more recently with Amelia. He wanted it for Dean too, he wanted Dean to stop hunting, to stop killing, because he knew it was eating away at Dean’s soul. Twisting him, making him hate himself even more.

Sam tried to focus on the book in front of him but he felt it was all useless. All he knew for certain about the Mark of Cain was that it meant that Dean could not be killed, that he would have a visible sign as a warning to others, and that he was destined to walk the earth alone. Sam could not think of a worse fate for Dean than living forever all alone and vowed to himself once more that he was going to find a way to remove that fucking mark from his brother.

Sam thought back on the things they had done for each other. He had saved Dean’s life years ago, taking him to that fake faith healer, then their dad had sacrificed himself to save Dean after their car crash, then Dean had made the crossroads deal to save Sam and round and round the Winchester carousel went. An endless spiral of hardship, blood and misery. Perhaps they should do themselves and the world a big favour and drive off a cliff, just like Thelma and Louise. He could imagine Dean grumbling ‘I ain't going out like a couple of chicks, Sammy. Butch and Sundance, man, Butch and Sundance.’

He smiled to himself, then sighed again as he knew even that escape was denied them, now that Dean was marked. He needed to speak to Dean, to let him know he wasn't facing this alone. Dean had been so distant lately, he had looked so sad and so lost. Sam knew it was partly his fault for still being pissed with Dean and decided it was time to move on. Kevin had been right. They had a job to do now. Sam had to save Dean and Dean had to kill Abaddon.

Castiel appeared in the library and told Sam he needed to speak with both of them as he had some news about the First Blade’s location. Sam left Cas in the library flicking through the book Sam had been reading and made his way along to his brother’s room. That still seemed weird to him, that they had their own bedrooms now. It was almost like the physical barrier matched the emotional barrier that had been between them recently.

Sam knocked and called out ‘Dean? You decent? Cas is here. He’s got news.’

‘Fuck! Hold up Sammy!’ Sam chuckled to himself when Dean’s panic-stricken voice, wondering what mischief his brother had been up to in the privacy of his own room.

Sam waited a moment then opened the door. Dean’s face was flushed and his guilty expression and the deodorant smell pointed to an obvious conclusion.

‘You and your right hand been having a party?’ Sam said, trying not to laugh.

‘Fuck off.’ Dean grumbled.

‘You so need to get laid, dude.’ Sam chuckled, but he knew what Dean really needed and it wasn't some random hook-up.

‘I guess you know me too well, Sammy.’ Dean said, with a smile that did not meet his eyes. Dean still looked guilty, ashamed and sad too.

Sam didn't know Dean as well as he used to, but he was going to give Dean what he needed - his pain in the ass little brother.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little different to the porny fluff I've posted so far but I hope you like it.


End file.
